Deadly Intent (40 page)

“Professor Gilroy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective John Ryan of the Township P.D.—Jordan’s father.”

“Jordan.” Small white teeth clamped over a thin lower lip, as though he was trying to place the name.

“Black hair, blue eyes. You escorted his class to Northlandz last week and gave him a railroad car.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now.” He smiled. “The young man with all the questions. I’m sorry it took me a while to match the name with the face. I meet so many youngsters.”

“I can imagine.” John raised an eyebrow. “May I come in?”

The request seemed to catch the professor by surprise. “Well, actually, I was about to leave.”

“This won’t take long, Professor. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

The professor’s cool demeanor dropped a notch, but he moved aside to let John in and quickly closed the door. “What kind of questions?”

‘”It’s in regard to the disappearance of Ben DiAngelo. I understand you know his mother quite well?”

“Yes, indeed I do. I’m one of Abbie’s most loyal customers, as well as a friend.” His expression clouded. “What happened to her son is a calamity. What sort of monster would put a child, and a mother, through such an ordeal?”

“That’s the question many people would like answered.” John glanced around him, taking in the heavy, elaborately carved furniture, all polished to a high shine. “How did you hear about the kidnapping?”

“I was in my car and heard it on the radio.” He gave a bewildered shake of his head. “I couldn’t believe it. A missing child is a terrible thing, but it affects you differently when it’s someone you know.”

He sounded so sincere, so genuinely troubled, John won

dered if he could have been wrong about him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had chased the wrong suspect. “You haven’t seen Abbie since then?” he asked. “Or communicated with her in any way?” Sent her a fax, perhaps?

If the phrasing of the question puzzled him, Gilroy gave no indication of it. ‘ ‘No. I stopped at Campagne last night to offer Abbie my support, but she wasn’t there. I left word with her sous-chef. I hope he gave her my message.”

“He did. She’s not in much of a mood to return calls at the moment.”

“I understand. I just wanted her to know I was there for her.”

The man was too calm, John thought. Time to shake things up a bit. “Abbie told me you have a grandson.”

He took a moment to answer. “That’s right.”

“Henry, isn’t it? He lives in England with your daughter?”

“You and Abbie discussed my family?”

“It’s all part of the investigation. People don’t like it, but when a child disappears, everyone is put under scrutiny.”

The shrewd eyes narrowed. “Have you been investigating me, Detective?”

“Nothing formal, just a few questions here and there.”

“And what have you deduced so far from those questions?”

John knew that if he was wrong about the man, there would be hell to pay with the captain, but he went for it anyway. “That dishonesty fits you like a second skin.”

Gilroy gave a short, harsh laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You told Abbie you were a widower. In fact, you are divorced and your ex-wife is very much alive. Then you went a step further and told her you had a daughter and a

grandson that do not exist. You care to explain why you did that, Professor?”

He seemed more disappointed than upset. “Abbie shouldn’t have repeated something I told her in confidence.”

“Is it true? Did you lie to her?”

“Yes, it’s true! I lied. There, are you satisfied now? Have I broken any laws?”

“No, but you can’t blame me for wanting to know why you did it.”

“Because I despise pity!” His voice shook with indignation. “And if I want to invent a family in order to avoid being pitied, that’s my business, no one else’s.”

“Are you sure you didn’t make up a phony grandson to get close to Abbie DiAngelo? Or was it Ben you wanted to get close to?”

The professor’s complexion got a shade paler. “What are you saying? What are you accusing me of?”

“Answer me this—did you ever invite Ben DiAngelo to come to your house to see your train displays?”

He blinked rapidly and repeatedly. “Why would I do that? I hardly know Ben.”

“You didn’t know my son, either, yet you extended an invitation to him to come to your house.”

“I don’t recall—“

“My son remembers the invitation very clearly, Professor. In fact, he was quite excited about it.”

“If he’s so certain, then perhaps I did. As I said earlier, it’s difficult to keep track of whom I meet.”

“What about Eric Sommers? Do you ever remember meeting him? Or inviting him to your house?”

John couldn’t decide what he saw first in the man’s eyes—fear or fury. The two emotions were so well inter

mingled, it was impossible to separate one from the other. Or to tell if the latter was an act.

“This is an outrage,” Gilroy said in a low, menacing voice. “You have no right to come to my home and throw accusations you can’t back up. Get out before I report you to your superiors. I have connections in this town, you know.”

“Why won’t you answer the question, Professor?” “You want an answer?” he shouted. “Fine, I’ll give you one. No, I did not invite Eric Sommers to my house. I had never heard of Eric Sommers until he was kidnapped. Nor did I kidnap Ben DiAngelo.” He smoothed down his necktie with a hand that was remarkably steady for a man who appeared to be so shaken. “And now, if you’re finished, I’m late for an appointment.” He opened the door. “Good day, Detective.”

Forty_Two

Abbie awoke with a start. She sat up, eyes wide open as she looked around her. Why had she slept in the kitchen? And why was Rose standing at the counter, making coffee?

Abbie blinked once before the fog of sleep lifted and reality hit her.

Ben was gone.

Ben had spent the night away from home, in some unknown place, in the company of a ruthless stranger. Had he finally succumbed to fatigue, as she had, and slept? Was he cold? Was he hungry? Was he scared?

Was he wondering why she wasn’t coming to rescue him?

The tears came, scalding her cheeks, blurring her vision as she tried to focus on Rose. “Where is Claudia?”

Rose turned around and smiled briefly. “I sent her home to get some sleep. She’ll be back later.”

“What about you? Didn’t you just finish a shift at the diner?”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to be with you.” She came to sit in the twin chair, across from Abbie. “I’m glad you slept. You needed it.”

Abbie brushed her hair back from her face. “Anyone call?”

“John. He just wanted to check on Sergeant Tyler. He said he’d call back later. Your ex-husband also called,”

she added. ‘ ‘He had just landed. Said he should be here in a couple of hours.”

Abbie wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. He would probably blame her for Ben’s disappearance and she wasn’t in the mood to hear his accusations right now. On the other hand, he had a right to be here.

“Your mom also called,” Rose said.

Telling her mother about the kidnapping had been an ordeal in itself. Irene had been devastated, and so fearful, it had taken Abbie and Marion over an hour to calm her down. “How is she doing?”

Rose smiled and stood up. “Worried about you. She’s going to stop by later, too.”

That was the part Abbie was dreading. Not necessarily her mother’s visit, but the calls, the endless parade of well meaning friends and neighbors, all eager to offer comfort and sit with her when all she wanted was to be left alone.

“I made coffee for Sergeant Tyler—he’s in the next room. Would you like some?”

She glanced toward the doorway. She had forgotten about the police technician. He had arrived late last night to install a tap and a tracer, and explained that Abbie or someone of her choosing had to be here to answer the phone in the event the kidnapper called. He had hooked up the equipment to the living-room extension in order not to be in Abbie’s way, and told her he’d be monitoring the phones for the next twelve hours before someone else came to relieve him. Her job, if the kidnapper called, was to keep him on the line as long as possible.

‘ ‘Here—“ Rose pressed a mug into her hands “—I hope you like your coffee strong, because I don’t know how to make it any other way.”

“I do like it strong.” She drank, taking small sips,

watching the clock, then the phone, willing it to ring. Why weren’t they calling? Why were they being so cruel?

What did they want from her?

She hadn’t noticed that her fingers had curled tightly around the mug, now empty, squeezing it so hard, her knuckles had turned white.

“I tell you what.” Rose gently pried the mug from her hand. “Why don’t you go up and take a shower, and while you do that, I’ll make you some scrambled eggs.”

“I’m not hungry.”

‘”You’ve got to eat.”

Not until Ben came home. She felt guilty enough to have slept. She hadn’t wanted to sleep. She hadn’t wanted to lose the mental thread that connected her to Ben. No, she wouldn’t eat. The mere thought of food made her nauseous anyway. The shower, on the other hand, and some fresh clothes, wouldn’t hurt.

She stood under the pelting water for a long time, with her eyes closed, as the heat penetrated through her skin and the steam cleared her mind.

After she dried herself off, she walked into her bedroom, pulled a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from her dresser and got dressed. She went through each motion automatically, without thinking, painfully aware of how different this morning was from all the others. There was no running up and down the stairs, no scrambling to get breakfast on the table, no “Mom, where is my red shirt?,” no mad rush to catch the school bus.

How did other parents do it? she wondered. How did they survive the loss of a child and go on with their lives, when she could barely get through the morning?

Against her better judgment, she walked out of her bedroom, down the hallway and into Ben’s room. The shock as she stood, holding on to the doorjamb, was almost too

much. She let her gaze sweep across the room, lingering on the neatly made bed, the closet that had been left open, the desk where Ben had left his Game Boy and Harry Potter books.

The sight of his bat propped against the foot of the bed and the glove hooked over it reminded her he had missed yesterday’s practice—a first for him. She wasn’t sure how her eyes managed to stay dry. Maybe she was stronger than she thought. Or maybe she didn’t have any tears left.

The next hour brought a succession of calls, all from concerned mothers who wanted to know if there had been any news of Ben. Some offered to come over, but Abbie gently talked them out of it, promising she’d call as soon as Ben was found.

She had just finished talking to Jimmy Hernandez’s mother when she heard the faint ring of her cell phone inside her purse.

“What’s that?” Frowning, Rose looked around her, trying to identify where the ringing was coming from.

“My cell phone. It’s probably John.” She took it out, pushed the talk button, ready to apologize to him for being so rude yesterday. “Hello?”

“How are you holding out, bitch?”

Abbie gasped, half in fear, half in relief as she tried desperately to place the male voice and couldn’t. Nor could she find the words she had waited so long to speak.

“Listen to me very carefully,” the voice went on. “If you have someone monitoring your other phone, I suggest you don’t alert him. Don’t alert anyone or your kid dies. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said in a strangled voice.

Rose had put the glass carafe back on the counter and was watching her. Abbie gave her a nervous smile, trying to appear casual, but knew she wasn’t fooling her.

“Whether your son lives or dies is entirely up to you,” the caller went on, “and how well you follow my instructions. Get a pen and paper.”